


Let him preserve the Motherland, same as Katyusha preserves their love

by Kasuna_Kotonoha



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Emotional Infidelity, F/M, Katyusha Challenge, Letters, Love Letters, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24639058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuna_Kotonoha/pseuds/Kasuna_Kotonoha
Summary: “The whole world is now for me divided into two halves: One half is she...the other half is everything where she is not”-Leo TolstoyFour revolutionary couples as told by the Russian folk song Katyusha
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr, Adrienne de Lafayette/Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, John Laurens/Martha Manning, Theodosia Prevost Burr/ Jacques Marcus Prevost (Mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Let him preserve the Motherland, same as Katyusha preserves their love

**_Love is war_ **

**_And the war is music_ **

**_And we dance to its beats till our soles_ **

**_Leave red prints that tell our legends_ **

**_-Aditi_ **

**_***_ **

**_“Расцвета́ли я́блони и гру́ши,_ **

**_Поплы́ли тума́ны над реко́й;_ **

**_Выходи́ла на́ берег Катю́ша,_ **

**_На высо́кий бе́рег, на круто́й.”_ **

**_“Apple and pear trees were a-blooming,_ **

**_Mist (was) creeping on the river._ **

**_Katyusha set out on the banks,_ **

**_On the steep and lofty bank.”_ **

**_***_ **

Adrienne de Lafayette lifted the hem of her skirts slightly to avoid soiling them in a muddy puddle as she walked along the Seine. It was rather early, and as such, the bank of the river was shrouded in a moderate veil of mist. In the distance, the bell of the nearest church chimed the sixth hour.

She entered a small paper shop, purchasing some paper and ink. She intended to write to her husband later that day. By the time she stepped out of the shop, the mist had cleared, burned off by the early morning light. 

Dotted along the river were pear and apple trees. One reason she loved going on walks this time of year was because of the blossoms of the apple and pear trees. The fragrance had the added benefit of masking any unpleasant odors that came with living in the city. As she passed by a pear tree, she plucked a few blossoms from a low hanging branch

She returned home, placing the paper, ink, and flowers on the desk before getting Henriette from the nanny. Her daughter was one of the few things that prevented her from impulsively crossing the ocean to be closer to Gilbert.

She missed him, and every letter she received directly from him was welcome reassurance of his survival. She dreaded the day she might receive a letter that he wasn’t coming home, for Henriette’s sake if not her own.

Her daughter sat in her lap as she penned her next letter, praying that her love would live long enough to read it.

**_***_ **

**_“Выходи́ла, пе́сню заводи́ла_ **

**_Про степно́го, си́зого орла́,_ **

**_Про того́, кото́рого люби́ла,_ **

**_Про того́, чьи пи́сьма берегла́.”_ **

**_“She was walking, singing a song_ **

**_About a gray steppe eagle,_ **

**_About her true love,_ **

**_Whose letters she was keeping.”_ **

**_***_ **

Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton awaited the arrival of the mail every day with a certain mixture of excitement and dread. This was to be expected, since her husband was a soldier, but that didn’t make sinking feeling in her gut go away.

They always started the same, without exception.

_ “My very dear Eliza,” _

She loved even the shortest letters, ones that were only, get this, two pages. She’d never received anything shorter. He wrote almost every other day, and yet he never ran out of things to write about.

The letters he sent her were kept in a decorative box she’d gotten from Peggy as a birthday present. It sat on her bedside, on the lower shelf, out of the way but always there. She knew most people held on to letters from loved ones, and she was no exception. She couldn’t fathom destroying a single one of Alexander’s letters to her.

Having them so close was comforting, because it was a tangible reminder that he was still here, still able to return to her whenever the time came.

She dared not think of anything else.

  
  


**_***_ **

**_Ой, ты пе́сня, пе́сенка деви́чья,_ **

**_Ты лети́ за я́сным со́лнцем вслед,_ **

**_И бойцу́ на да́льнем пограничье_ **

**_От Катю́ши переда́й приве́т._ **

**_Oh, you song! Little song of a maiden,_ **

**_Head for the bright sun._ **

**_And reach for the soldier on the far-away border_ **

**_Along with greetings from Katyusha._ **

**_***_ **

Martha Manning Laurens could say with complete certainty that her husband was kind of a dick. Like, seriously, leaving without warning while she was pregnant was not the definition of a loving husband. Then there was the fact that she got pregnant in the first place.

Despite that, she still loved him, as weird as that might sound. Or maybe it was her daughter that she loved, a product of their relationship, and therefore, by extension, him as well.

One thing she would complain about, however, was how terrible he was at writing to her. His letters were infrequent at best, and always short. However, she was not like that. She wrote at least three times a month, more if she could, giving updates on herself and Frances. 

She knew how important moral was during war, and if she could provide even a sliver of hope or comfort for him, she was doing something right. 

So she wrote about ordinary, mundane things, about their daughter, and how she was  _ still _ holding a grudge against that incompetent, carless midwife even though that was  _ four  _ years ago and Frances was _ just fine _ , all while humming some nonsensical tune.

She hoped that he lived long enough to read them and eventually return or have her and Frances sent for.

She also hoped she never received a letter to the contrary.

**_***_ **

**_Пусть он вспо́мнит де́вушку просту́ю,_ **

**_Пусть услы́шит, как она́ поёт,_ **

**_Пусть он зе́млю бережёт родну́ю,_ **

**_А любо́вь Катю́ша сбережёт._ **

**_Let him remember an ordinary girl,_ **

**_And hear how she sings,_ **

**_Let him preserve the Motherland,_ **

**_Same as Katyusha preserves their love._ **

**_***_ **

Theodosia Bartow Prevost sat at her desk, penning her next letter to Aaron. She’d never considered herself one to get involved in an affair, yet here she was, falling headfirst in love with a man she was not married to. Any hope for that was nigh impossible while her husband was alive.

Yet she still wrote to him, almost every day, humming happily in a way she didn’t when writing to Marcus. 

If her husband ever found out, she’d be humiliated, but she also couldn’t bring herself to care

They discussed everything under the sun in those letters. She knew he’d be grateful for the mundanity and plainness of the topics. However, the war did leak into their conversations from time to time. That was to be expected, but it still caused her no small amount of concern.

Her love was preserved in those letters, and she made sure to convey that as best she could.

She held down the fort while he defended their country. That was her role, and she would be damned if she didn’t give it anything less than her best.

She couldn’t help wishing for the death of her husband, wishing to be able to marry Aaron.

Her wish came true.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a challenge for you all. Take the lyrics for Katyusha, and go wild. Tag "Katyusha Challenge" if you do
> 
> Here's the song if you've never heard it:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7J__ZdvsZaE


End file.
